


Adventures In Socialising

by HalfASlug



Category: Broadchurch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-30 13:14:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6425413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HalfASlug/pseuds/HalfASlug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One morning Hardy isn’t the only sour face in Broadchurch station. Can Britain’s worst cop work out why? Set during S1E6.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adventures In Socialising

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Попытка общения](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10567686) by [Tanets_chasov](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tanets_chasov/pseuds/Tanets_chasov)



The kettle was boiling far too slowly for Hardy’s liking. Ordinarily he’d spend as much time as humanly possible in his office where most of the other officers were loath to join him. Miller, of course, was the exception. A closed door to her was just another problem to be solved or a situation to be meddled with. He’d considered getting a lock installed, but somehow doubted that would stop her and her sickening kindness seeping into his personal space.

Pulling the cleanest mug from the cupboard, Hardy couldn’t help but notice that the usual titters that his colleagues thought he couldn’t hear were absent today. Fairly certain he was still as grumpy a fuck as he was yesterday, he glanced over his shoulder and noticed that there was a definite air of sluggishness in the room.

The one that always had some kind of crumbs over his shirt (Geoff? Greg? Gary?) was bleakly flicking through a file as if it contained nothing but pictures of sad puppies. Jesus, was that he looked like most days? No wonder they called him shitface…

“Morning!”

Hardy nodded vaguely at the sound of Miller’s chirp, still watching Geoff/Greg/Gary grow more despondent with each passing second.

The sound of a heavy plastic shopping bag being dumped next to him brought him out of his stupor.

“What’s wrong with everyone today?” he asked. Knowing this town the annual fun day had been cancelled or something and the townsfolk were lost without their yearly tombola fix. “It’s like I’ve walked into the set of Dawn of the Dead.”

“You’re one to talk,” snorted Miller, matching his gaze.

She had a point but not one he was willing to acknowledge.

Miller rolled her eyes. “Finley’s leaving do? Last night? You gave use thirty quid to leave you to sulk in peace?”

“Oh. Right.” He chucked a teabag into the mug and added a spoon of sugar. “Why are you so chipper then?”

She glared at him. Maybe he could’ve sounded less disgusted. Then he remembered how she shared the same awful joke with the lad on reception every bloody day and knew that, no, he really couldn’t.

“Joe makes the best hangover cure of a breakfast,” she explained with a smile.

He could almost remember being in a marriage happy enough to smile just at the thought of it. Then again, it was possible he couldn’t. Fantasies and wishes were blurring with the truth through his rose tinted glasses.

“Sounds like a useful bloke to have around.”

“It’s partly why I married him. To make sure he sticks around.”

The kettle finally clicked and Hardy turned back to the counter. He used to be naive enough to think a ring could make someone stick around. Miller’s stupid grin made his stomach twist. Hopefully he never looked like that.

“So, last night,” Hardy said as he poured the water. “Anything I should know?”

“With you, I don’t know if you’re asking if anybody behaved badly or if someone managed to find the killer behind the bandit.”

He shot her an annoyed look. “I’m making conversation. I’m their boss. Isn’t it my job to know if anybody ended up singing _Angels_ with their tie around their head?”

Even to his own ears it sounded as if he’d managed to unconvince himself mid-sentence. What was he going to do? Make a joke before the morning debriefing? He had the comic brilliance of the Queen’s Speech.

He watched as the teabag slowly revolved in the mug. All he had wanted was a bloody cup of tea and he’d somehow engaged Miller in conversation. This was why he barely left his office. There was way too much risk of these types of situations out in the open.

“Ian chucked up in the taxi apparently.” Miller flicked her eyes towards Geoff/Greg/Gary.

_Ian_. Well, he’d been close enough.

“Sam and Will went home together,” Miller said, leaning closer to him as if imparting state secrets.

He stared at her blankly.

“Allsopp and Spencer,” she clarified with a scowl.

“Oh. Wow. Right.”

He gave the tea a stir, very aware that Miller was staring at him as if expecting him to say more.

“We’ve all been waiting for it to happen,” she informed him. “Surely even you’ve noticed?”

Hardy swallowed and nodded vaguely, making Miller huff.

“Best of luck to them,” Hardy said. “Relationships at work aren’t always the best idea.”

That hadn’t sounded too bitter, had it? Oh, who cared? The teabag was in the bin now and this hell was nearly over.

“Amazing,” Miller deadpanned. “I had no idea you were such a great romantic, sir.”

Hardy ignored her and she began rummaging through the shopping bag she brought with her. Over the sound of a jar of Nescafé being slammed about he distinctly heard her call him a “bloody misery.”

Collecting the milk from the fridge, Hardy supposed that he had been hasty. After all, an inter-office relationship had worked fine for his wife and bleeding _Dave_.

Now _that_ had definitely been bitter.

Something slid across the counter towards him.

“Chocolate?”

Hardy looked up at Miller. Miller looked at him. Between them sat a large box of chocolates. Well, it may have been a box of chocolates to the untrained eye, but to him it was another obstacle between him and sanctuary.

“Where did they come from?”

“I brought them.”

“Why?”

It was amazing how Miller could pull off looking like she had just swallowed a mouth of bees without a single insect in sight. “I went to the shop on the way here and thought it’d be a nice thing to do. Sometimes people do things like that.”

“Right.”

“Go on,” she snapped. “They’re the fancy ones with cherry liquor in them.”

The sound of his heart’s stuttering rhythm thundering in his ears of echoed in the back of his mind and he turned away to stir the tea. “No.”

“Thank you.”

“What?”

Miller snatched the box away from him. “I’m going to do some work, sir. Feel free to stop acting like a complete wanker at any point.”

With her now standard contemptuous parting glare, Miller stomped towards her desk.

“Miller,” Hardy called. “Miller!”

She whipped around and he held the mug out to her.

“Tea.”

“You… made me tea?” she said, not blinking for an unnatural length of time.

Hardy nodded. After a moment of shifting her weight and looking at everything in the kitchen but him, she took the mug from him.

She blew on it as if that would somehow stop her mouth being scolded and eyed the drink suspiciously.

“Thank you,” Hardy said pointedly and she switched her beady eyes onto him. “Right. Not funny.”

Decideding that he wasn’t trying to poison her or some nonsense, Miller finally took a sip. She’d barely had chance to swallow before her eyes went wide in shock.

“You’ve made it how I like it.”

Hardy shrugged. “Seen you make enough of the stuff. Besides - detective.”

“You’ll ruin your reputation if you keep this up,” she said after another sip. It was as if she was buying time to work out if she could joke with him rather than laugh at him. Or just plain insult him.

Simple back and forth. He could do that. To stop himself looking too uncomfortable, Hardy folded his arms.

“That reminds me - you still owe me a t-shirt.”

“You owe me about 20 cups of tea,” Miller fired back.

“Call it even?”

Miller narrowed her eyes as if considering his offer and Hardy could feel himself relaxing. Maybe he really could manage this? He’d do his best to take this second rate detective and first rate pain in the arse and make her halfway good at her job and she could provide him social interaction when he felt like he needed some. They were hardly Ant and Dec but they could maybe manage Fletch and Mackay in one of their friendlier episodes?

“Have a bloody chocolate,” Miller said, picking the box up to hold it out to him, “and I’ll think about it.”

Briefly, so briefly the words barley had time to form in his mind, he considered explaining why he couldn’t. Why he turned down coffee. Why he only picked at the fish and chips she forced on him. He couldn’t decide if she’d turn him in or be concerned and mother him if she knew the truth. Both were intolerable.

“I’ll be in my office if you need me,” he said without making eye contact and walking away. With every step he felt Miller’s disbelieving eyes drilling into the back of his head and he knew he’d have to wait until he could go and make his own tea. It was the only reason he’d left his desk in the first place and now his misguided and half-arsed attempt to build a bridge with his DS had scuppered that.

He leant against the back of his office door and rubbed his eyes, the dull muttering of the others almost silenced from here. His latest balls-up was grating at the front of his skull so he couldn’t even let out his customary sigh of relief.

Behind him he heard Miller’s muffled voice announcing her latest gift and the resulting surge of tired detectives shuffling towards their treat. Even back in Sandbrook he’d never been one for being pally with everyone, but his other half had normally dragged him along. He hadn’t noticed when she’d stopped, so wrapped up in the case he’d been. He’d not realised how lonely he’d be without it even with the mild irritation.

Sighing, he sat back behind his desk. It wasn’t like he came here to make friends anyway.

Five minutes later, in which Hardy had checked his voicemail twice just in case his daughter had somehow missed how pathetic he’d sounded last night and got back to him, there was a knock at his door.

“What?” he called, pulling a file towards him.

Miller came in. He wasn’t even surprised anymore. “You didn’t make yourself a drink,” she pointed out.

“Ah - no. No, I changed my-”

“Whatever,” she interrupted, dumping a steaming mug of tea on the only clear section of his desk. “I’ve made you that now so bloody well drink it.”

Without waiting for the thank you he was too baffled to give anyway, she walked out, leaving him gaping after her.

She wasn’t a friend - _dear God, no_ \- but maybe having Miller as a kind of buffer between him and the rest of the world wasn’t so bad after all.


End file.
